


Assumptions

by Owlix



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Decepticon culture, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Spark Sex, romantic intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlix/pseuds/Owlix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift has made mistakes. They've left marks. </p><p>Rodimus takes him as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assumptions

**Author's Note:**

> Bibliotecaria_D wrote a really good, short, sad thing about Drift's spark chamber, and the fact that a piece was taken from it and used to make his Decepticon badge. It made me want to write something happy about the same subject... so I did.

Drift’s hand slid up and down Rodimus’ hood, probing the slick painted metal for something and not finding it. Rodimus’ hood shuddered under his touch, shifting up against Drift’s fingertips. Up, but not out. Not open.

“It doesn’t--” Rodimus’ voice shook.

Drift ran his hand down the center of his hood, intentional and slow, leaving little scratches behind in the wax and topcoat. He could feel the heat, the pulsing pull of Rodimus’ spark under the metal plate, but he couldn’t seem to find…

Rodimus spoke again. Static, then, “It doesn’t--” He shuddered, still managing to smile -- “I don’t bend that way. You have to-- here, you--” He fumbled, groping for Drift’s hand. Drift let him crush his fingers together in an eager, clumsy grip, let Rodimus guide his hand down and then up again. Under his hood. “You have to reach under, if you want to -- _mmh_.” He shifted. “Mm, yeah. There.”

Rodimus’ hand tightened against Drift’s wrist, then fell away. And Drift leaned closer, chest pressing hard against Rodimus’ shuddering hood. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but he could feel the tug of Rodimus’ spark, the uncoiling heat that reached for him. He was afraid to get too close. Afraid to touch, blind.

“I want to see,” Drift said. He was surprised at the roughness of his own voice. “I don’t just want to touch. I want to see.”

Rodimus grinned at him, optics flickering. “I didn’t think you’d want to do this,” he said. “I’d heard that Decepticons don’t.”

Drift snorted. Autobots had any number of bizarre rumors about the differences between the factions, ranging from hilarious to outright offensive. The Decepticons had spread their own such rumors about the Autobots too, of course… Maybe it was inevitable after millions of years of cultural separation. But still.

“Don’t what?” Drift asked, not really expecting an answer. “Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we?”

 _They_ , he corrected himself. _Not “we.” They._

Rodimus opened his mouth to answer, but Drift already regretted asking. He kissed him into silence.

“Never mind,” Drift said. “Just forget it. I don’t want to know.”

Mercifully, Rodimus dropped it; he was distracted. They kissed. Drift’s hand shifted under Rodimus’ hood, still unsure and fumbling. He hadn’t done this in a long time, and he’d never done it like this. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but he could feel the pulse of Rodimus’ spark near to his hand, the crawl of energy up his fingertips, like an electric current, rhythmic and pulsing. It pulled at him. His own spark pulled back, a resonant desire that throbbed and built.

Drift shuddered. His own plating shifted, subconscious programming trying to let Rodimus in closer. And Drift wanted it. This was right and good and sacred, his body recognizing that the two of them were very much the same, two parts of a much larger whole. Rodimus’ hand reached towards him, fingertips uncharacteristically hesitant as he touched the plating on Drift’s chest. Drift’s spark lurched, reaching for him, and Drift wanted…

But Rodimus didn’t know, and Drift should warn him, before...

“Before I--” Drift’s vocalizer stalled. He swallowed down the sudden irrational shame and fear and tried again. “I want to warn you. My spark chamber - it’s… marked. When a Decepticon takes the brand, they --”

But before he’d finished the sentence, Drift could see that Rodimus already knew; he was _grinning_.

“I kinda didn’t believe it,” Rodimus said. “But it’s true, isn’t it? Decepticons really make the badges out of a chunk of your spark casing?”

Drift could feel his face flush. “Who told you?”

“Ratchet. He mentioned it before. And I’ve heard it. Heard it around, you know. People talk. I thought it was just crazy rumors, though.” Rodimus’ hand slid up, surer of himself and aggressively forward. “I want to see.”

Drift showed him. His plates shifted, just enough to let Rodimus’ hand incrementally closer, in through his outer armor. Just enough to show a glimpse of his spark casing through the plating of his protoform. Drift’s spark tugged at him, responding to the overwhelming sensation of Rodimus’ nearness. Drift could feel it straining - could feel Rodimus’ spark responding against his own hand. Drift shut his optics, acclimating to the intensity of the pull.

He could feel Rodimus staring. When the intensity became tolerable enough, Drift activated his optics again, almost afraid to look. But Rodimus’ expression wasn’t horrified or disgusted.

His mouth was hanging open. He was trying to speak, but no sound was coming out.

“There’s an opening,” Rodimus finally managed to say.

And it was almost funny seeing him near-speechless, even given the circumstances. Drift smiled. “Yeah.” And there was - a long, narrow slot cut through his casing, round at the top and bottom, edges smooth. The light of his spark gleamed through it. “What did you think there'd be?”

“A weld,” Rodimus said immediately. “A wound. A messy repair.” His hand reached forward, then pulled back again. He kept staring. Faint light seeped from the narrow slot in Drift’s spark chamber, reflecting on Rodimus’ face and fingers.

Drift laughed, voice shaky. “It was a medical procedure, Rodimus. They did it with a scalpel, not a sword.”

“I thought… I didn’t expect.. I didn’t think it would be  _open_. ” Rodimus was still staring. His hand crept closer again. He still didn’t even try to touch. “Drift. I can see your spark.”

Drift kept smiling. “Yeah.”

“How come you left it like this? Why didn’t they fill it in?”

“Because it isn’t done,” Drift said. “It’s not some kind of barbaric hazing ritual, Rodimus. There’s symbolism involved. Meaning.”

Rodimus didn’t seem to be listening. Drift was surprised when he spoke - “I didn’t think Decepticons went in for that kind of stuff. I thought they weren’t religious.”

“The symbolism goes beyond any religious faith,” Drift said. “And the Decepticons aren’t anti-religious. Megatron is against religious institutions as used to oppress the masses, but he isn’t…”

Drift trailed off at the expression on Rodimus’ face. They sat together in silence for a moment, sparks tugging at each other.

“You left it this way,” Rodimus said softly.

“Yes,” Drift said. “They could have ‘repaired’ it when they rebuilt me, at Crystal City. They didn’t. And Ratchet asked me if I wanted it ‘fixed,’ when… but, I don’t. I’m not going to run from my past.”

Rodimus kept staring. He reached forward again, closer, still not touching. Drift could feel his spark react - could see the light reflected on Rodimus’ face as it flared bright - could feel Rodimus’ spark pulsing against his fingers in response. He made an undignified sound, vision flickering in and out.

“It’s beautiful,” Rodimus said.

Drift didn’t speak. His spark was a part of the Allspark, made by Primus himself - something even Drift’s mistakes and bad decisions couldn’t tarnish. Despite what he’d done, it was still as sacred as anyone’s. He knew that, even if he sometimes felt otherwise.

He was reminded of it now, by the awe on Rodimus’ face, bathed in the faint glow from Drift’s chest.

  



End file.
